I'm still ripping out my eye lashes
It makes me sad.
I lay and wonder about the woes I cast
and why I feel so bad.

Reflection is a tricky thing.
It can bring up so much, but is never-ending
Like the hyphen between never and ending
Reflection is a process that loops.

You can feel as if you're on top of the world
Once you've climbed out of a pit after reflecting...
only to fall into a ravine after taking a few steps outside instead of running.

The journey to healthy is a tough one.
I feel like I'm splashing in this gorge
Flapping and flailing around,
trying to escape and get warm

Overtime, I slow down more and more
until finally, I want to give up
Succumb to the bubbles...
and perhaps, never wash up.

Why?.
A question so repetitive,
It stifles my mind.

As the more I think,
The less I hide.

The more I speak,
The less I lie.

The more I feel,
The less I disguise.

For the more I live,

The less I am alive.

TW: MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM

My body,
My punishment.
This world is cruel,
And I,
The puppet.

A stabbing sadness,
Shrivels my heart.
Pain,
Becomes painless,
As skin,
Becomes art.

Woes to wounds,
The sheets I have bled.
As a desire,
So deadly,

Leads me to temptation,
Again.

Take a walk
Inside my head,
I’ll give you the grand tour!
Ignore the darkness
Skulking there
Behind those closed doors.
Don’t worry,
You’ll be safe and sound
My thoughts are quieter now.
They speed right past—
Now watch your step!
Once lost, you can’t be found.

Oh little one,
Your heart died so young.
Life can be a pain,
And you were stung.
You sought happiness,
In the arms of your own.
As joy did not exist
In the heart of your home.
Your carers,
Were made of stone.
Flashes of anger
Turned you cold.
But through this,
You continued to grow.
Be proud,
Little angel,
You have won this alone.

I am a floating flower,
Among the tallest tree.
My petals,
They fall once plucked from me.
My pollen
Decreases once ****** by bees.
My roots
Decay once ripped from leaves.
I am fragile,
Born from the smallest of seed.
Grown and sewn,
To the purest beauty.

But wanderer and ponderer,
Please let me be.

TW: Self-Harm

Mummy,
My flesh is my own,
Grown and sewn,
To skin and bone.

But my mind is hurt and I don't know why.

As the metal hit,
On leg to wrist,
It painted my body.

Nothing could stop me.

It was addictive,
Yet I am still alive.

Why?

From one to two,
Then some to a few.
I could not keep score,

My body is now torn.